


Hope and Admiration

by SpiritsFlame



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritsFlame/pseuds/SpiritsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is not pleased to find Grantaire at his door in the middle of the night, but he does his best to help anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope and Admiration

Enjolras has seen Grantaire drunk often, but rarely has he seen him melancholy. Grantaire is a loud drunk, boisterous and chatty. He smiles easily, laughs largely and gives kisses freely. If Enjolras were to give thought to it- which he rarely does- he would say that Grantaire is generally of a cheerful, if terribly cynical, disposition. 

He and Grantaire are not close, though that is largely by design. Enjolras has no desire to be associated with drunks whose only purpose is to drag others down. He’s never seen any sign from Grantaire that this is an incorrect view, so it is one he persists in.

If Grantaire would make more of an effort, perhaps Enjolras could be persuaded to do the same. In this regard, as in few others, Enjolras is not optimistic. 

If he were to name those in their company who cared about Grantaire, Enjolras would struggle to think about it, but if pressed he would name Joly and Bahorel. They share drinks with Grantaire, and they laugh at his stories while Enjolras can only fume.

If he gave it further thought, he may have named Jehan as well. Jehan is not one for the drink, but he and Grantaire understand one another as others do not. 

Enjolras sees none of this. 

Enjolras is aware of his own flaws, though he rarely makes pains to correct them. He can be too absorbed in his works, but he often sees that as a boon than a curse. He can speak too quickly, but when the angry words fly from his mouth in front of an eager crowd, he wonders if this too is not a gift. He is uncomfortable with emotions outside of righteous anger. Well, righteous anger has always served him just fine. 

Nevertheless, he is made uncomfortably aware of how much he lacks in social graces when he faces anyone other than Courfeyrac and Combeferre in one-on-one situations. If he cannot be speaking of the Revolution, he sees no point in continuing the conversation. 

Enjolras is therefore startled, almost alarmed, when Grantaire shows up at his apartment at half three in the night. Courfeyrac is out, and so foisting Grantaire upon him is no option. 

“Will you deny me entry?” Grantaire asks, and his smile is terrible. Enjolras shifts uncomfortably. The door is letting in a draft, and he is only in a night shirt. 

“Come in, then,” Enjolras snaps, angry at Grantaire and angry at himself for his own discomfort. “Are you drunk?”

“Not nearly enough, my dear Apollo,” Grantaire replies, sinking onto Enjolras’ couch without permission.

“Then why are you here?” 

“Is it not enough that I wished to see you?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras wants him to stop smiling. There is none of his usual easy humor in that smile. 

“I doubt you ever want to see me,” Enjolras replies, uncomfortable again. He wishes he were wearing proper trousers.

“That is where you are wrong,” Grantaire says, and his voice is light. “I always want to see you.”

Enjolras snorts, and it is terribly undignified. He blames his nightclothes. He defies anyone to be dignified in nightclothes.

“It is true,” Grantaire presses. His hands look small without a bottle in them.

“No drink tonight?” Enjolras asks, rather than reply to Grantaire’s ridiculous assertion.

Grantaire makes a face “Were it within my power, I would have one now, I promise you. Sobriety makes me as uneasy as the drink makes you.”

“That is backwards logic.”

“It is the truth. I am out of sorts at the moment. I came to you, did I not?”

Enjolras purses his lips. “And why did you come to me?” 

Grantaire leans his head back to stare at the ceiling, chipped and stained with cigar smoke from the previous tenant.

“Which do you think is better? To have no friends, or to have many and know they do not care?”

Enjolras takes a tentative seat next to Grantaire on the couch. “You have friends who care for you.”

“I have friends who care for the life of the party, who enjoy a good laugh and good wine. I have friends with whom I can admire a pretty girl with. I do not have friends who will care for me when I am melancholy.”

“And you came to me.” It is a statement, but Enjolras is baffled. He is hardly a friend to Grantaire, and he has never had much patience for the melancholy. 

“You disdain is a fixed point,” Grantaire replies. “I reply on it as I rely on the stars that led me here.”

“I am not,” Enjolras hesitates, “not good at giving comfort.”

Grantaire snorts, and rolls his head on his shoulder to look at Enjolras. “I never thought you would be.”

“Then why come here?”

Grantaire presses his lips together. For a moment, Enjolras believes that he will not answer. When Grantaire speaks, his voice is a rasp. “I think that it would be better to face your expected disdain then to expect care from one who would not give it.”

Enjolras feels an unexpected surge of sympathy, and he reaches out a hand to touch Grantaire’s arm. He feels awkward and slow. “I am not disdainful.”

Grantaire throws an arm over his eyes, but does not break the contact between them. “A miracle, in and of itself.”

Enjolras’ fingers tighten on Grantaire’s arm. “I am trying, Grantaire.”

Grantaire lifts his head and looks Enjolras in the eyes. Enjolras feels strangely pinned, stuck in place. “So you are,” Grantaire murmers. “Another miracle.”

Enjolras scowls and breaks free, getting to his feet. “One wasted on you, I see.”

“No!” Grantaire gets to his feet as well, strangely urgent. “No, I, I appreciate it.” He worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Stay?” Grantaire is uncharacteristically hesitant.

“This is my flat,” Enjolras replies. Grantaire drops his gaze, fingers curling in at his side. “But,” Enjolras continues. “I suppose I can be persuaded to stay.”

He drops down onto his couch and looks up at Grantaire expectantly. Grantaire sinks down beside him, disbelieving. 

“Come,” Enjolras demands. “Tell me of your classes. I know very little about you, Grantaire, except that you love the drink and detest the Revolution.”

Grantaire’s lips twitch. “Not detest.”

“Well, then tell me of something you admire,” Enjolras concedes, and is rewarded by another, more sincere smile. If he is to help the people of France, he may as well start with those he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to chat, I can be found at my tumblr by the same name.


End file.
